Falling Into Madness (Joker & Harley Quinn Origin)
by AeronBraxton
Summary: Dr. Harleen Quinzel is becoming a legend at Arkham Asylum. Curing high profile patients left and right, she is assigned to The Joker. Soon she begins to find dark secrets hidden within Arkham, and begins to question who's side she's on. But is The Joker with or against her? Can love really be found in the blackest of hearts? Harley & Joker Origins. Nolanverse. Post TDKR.
1. Prologue

Prologue

"Another case solved," Dr. Cavendish said, smiling proudly and leaning back in his desk chair, reviewing her findings. "That's five high profile cases in eight months."

"Harleen, I must admit that I was very hesitant adding such a young psychologist to the Arkham staff, but it was the best move I have ever made. Your findings are astronomical and your patients' behavior ratings just keep skyrocketing."

He dropped the papers and looked up at her, "What are you doing right?"

Harleen was grinning ear to ear. She shrugged shyly, "I don't know! I just have a knack for it I guess."

Dr. Cavendish threw back his head and gave a hearty laugh, "And she's humble too. You're too good to be true."

She shuffled in place and tried to hid her smile as she brushed her hair behind her ear, "Thank you, sir."

He stood up from his chair and walked over to his office door closing it quietly. His hand motioned towards the chair beside her. "Please sit."

She did, with a slight bound. Her smile was still present on her face. He went to his filing cabinet and stuck his key into the top drawer. He pulled out a thin blue folder. For a moment, he paused holding the folder in the air.

"This is the big leagues, Harleen," he said, his voice wavering between warning and admiration. He handed Harleen the folder. She looked at him before taking it. He gave an encouraging nod and her fingers grasped the folder.

Once it was in her grasp, she flipped it open in delight. Her jaw dropped slightly at the patient name. She looked back up to Dr. Cavendish.

"Are you serious?" she asked, trying to hide her excited smile. She didn't want to seem unprofessional, but it was so hard trying not to dance with excitement.

He nodded once more, "Go get him, superstar," he said, "the case is all yours," his smile matched hers.

Her fingers ran over the name embossed into the card stock file. The ink made her finger tingle and her breath caught as she reread his name.

JOKER.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

MYTHS AND LEGENDS

Harleen's fingers shook by her side making the folder in her hand pop against her leg. The elevator beeped as she was lowered down each floor to the prison levels of Arkham. The rickety gate opened and she took a moment before stepping out.

Catcalls came from the gates to her left and right. Low security prison mates were mingling together during lunch time. As usual she ignored them, it was not the calls of the inmates that had her nerves on edge.

A large guard stood in front of a thick, steel door, holding a shot gun. He nodded to her and she smiled in return.

"Good morning," she said, knowing her words would be the only kind ones he would receive all day.

"Morning, doctor," he murmured turning around to punch in the code to enter the room. A loud buzzer rang from above and the door clicked open. She gave the guard one last smile before entering the psychiatric cell.

It was dark. The only source of light was one lamp hovering over a metal table. There was a figure on one side of the table. She recognized the stringy hair and turned for a moment to gather her wits. _Calm down, he__'__s just another patient, _she reminded herself and pulled the door closed. She heard the outside lock clicked into place.

"Hello, Ms. Quinzel,"

"It's Doctor, actually," she said, turning around and pulling her fingers through her pony tail. She didn't make eye contact with him.

"Whoo-hoo-hoo, ex-cuse me, doc-TOR," he said, his fingers began tapping on the metal table. Her eyes skimmed the shackles on his wrist, which were permanently attached to the table, which was bolted to the floor. A part of her still wasn't sure it was safe to sit in the chair across from him.

She shook her head and pulled the chair out from the table, giving herself at least a four foot distance from him. Crossing her leg in a masculine fashion, she laid his folder on her lap. There wasn't much in his folder, she was truly just skimming through the pages to stall. Suddenly, she felt very unprepared and overwhelmed.

"Your treatment is quite odd, doc-tor, do you lull your patients into sanity with your brutal silence?"

The taunt made her blood boil. Harleen's frustration turned to determination. She would not be bullied by a patient. A woman of her success in Arkham should not be nervous. He was just a patient.

"Does silence unnerve you?" she said, raising her eyebrow and making eye contact with him for the first time. His face was adorned with it's usual grease paint. Towards his left eye, greasy, blonde hair stuck to the paint. The rest of his hair was messily brushed back, its green tint long lost. But when she finally caught his eyes, all her confidence fell away once more. Marbles black as death stared back at her, making her feel as if he could read every thought in her mind. His scarred mouth was turned downward. He seemed taken aback by her question, but soon it grew into a smirk.

"So she speaks, and frisky too, how exciting. I've never had a doc-tor with cheek," he said.

"It was not cheek. It was a question, which you are avoiding," she said, her eyes leaving his and looking once more at the sheet in front of her.

He laughed loudly, causing her to jump, "There it is again! Oh doc, you and me are gonna get along just fine."

"It is not cheek," she said, realizing her voice was rising. She cleared her throat, "It is not cheek. It is a straight forward question."

"No, no, no, doc," he said, the humor still present in his voice, "it's not what you say, but how you say it."

"I say again, you are avoiding the question," she took her glasses off, placed them on his folder, and then laid both onto the table. It made a thump, sending dust flying into the air.

"And you're avoiding my observation, doc, aren't we here to talk about me not you?"

Harleen internally sighed, realizing she'd met him in a stale mate.

"Alright, let's start from the beginning-"

"Pre-cisely my line of thinking," he interrupted, "So young, yet already such a successful doc-tor. You're practically a celebrity here in Arkham!" he cackled, "How old are you anyway? You look like a teenager."

Her jaw clenched. She did not look like a teenager. _He__'__s just playing games with you. _Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself.

"I thought we were talking about you," she said, her eyebrow arched.

"Ooh, there's that cheek again, I like it!" he mumbled quickly to himself, she ignored it and kept her eyes on him as he continued to speak, "I'm so boring, besides this is an introductory visit. It's all about me," he motioned to himself," the patient, getting comfortable with you, the doctor, am I right? So spill it or I don't talk. How old are you?"

She sighed outwardly, "Twenty-five."

"Just a baby! HA! HA!"

Harleen felt her cheeks flush slightly. His comments aggravated her. Her left hand raked her bangs out of her face and she placed it on the table, her fingers tapping as his had. Twenty-five was a perfectly valid age for a doctor.

"I'm blind!" he yelled, startling her once more, she looked around quickly trying to understand what he was talking about. "What IS that on your finger? Is our dear doc-tor a Mrs.?"

Her pulse lessened, he was talking about her wedding ring. She place her hand on her chest to calm her breathing.

"Well?"

"Yes, eight months ago," she said, trying to keep her voice monotone. The direction of the meeting was not what she was planning.

"And who is this lucky fellow?"

"Lieutenant Gary Quinzel, I doubt you've come in contact with him. He was only promoted after the seize of Gotham."

"Quinzel, eh? Can't say I recall," he said, shrugging, "What's your, uh, maiden name?"

"Carr," she replied, she was trying to sound bored so he'd move onto other topic. Hopefully towards himself.

"Isn't there a name that goes before that, doc? I mean I could call you 'doc', but I think I'd feel a little more _comfortable_ if I had a pretty name to go with that pretty face?"

This was getting slightly out of hand. She needed to take control of the conversation. "What about you? Is there a name I can call you other than ' the Joker?'"

"Avoiding the question, doc?

"Are you?" she said,

He narrowed his eyes at her, "Hmm, we continue to reach an impasse, doc." There was silence for a few moments as she held his eye contact, daring him to speak first. Minutes passed.

"Gah!" he finally caved, but then he started cackling, "You're just too much fun. Tell you what, you call me," he paused, thinking for a moment, "J''. Call me 'J'. Your turn."

She eyed his carefully. "Harleen," she said, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

His face scrunched up, he stuck his tongue out as if tasting something vulgar.

"Harleeeeen," he began, playing with the sounds of her voice. It was obvious he didn't like it. He shook his head, "Harrrleen, Harlin, Harlean, Harlllen, Harleen, Harleen, Harley!" he said excitedly, a crazed look formed in his eye. "Harley! Ha! Harley, Harley, Harley Quinzel."

She looked up at him, her face showing she was not impressed, but immediately recoiled when she saw the dark look in his eyes.

"My little harlequin," he growled, it was almost inaudible, but it made her heart stop. Suddenly the timer on the table went off. She screamed and stood. The metal chair she was sitting on crashed onto the floor.

"Easy, puddin', it's just a bell," he chuckled, "Well, doc, it looks like our time is up. Till next time."

Harleen scooped her folder and glasses from the table and hurried to the door pressing the button. A loud buzzer went of signaling it was unlocked and she rushed through it.

* * *

All Harleen could hear was her heart thudding rhythmically in her chest. The end of her pen was caught between her teeth. In front of her was his file: closed. She couldn't open it, even though it held no useful information. Under the protection of the blue folder was his photo, and in that photo were those terrifying eyes.

She rubbed her own eye with her finger, as she yawned. The clock in front of her confirmed it was after midnight. There was no use trying to go home. The gates locked at eight every night on the dot. Employees in Arkham after were locked for the next twelve hours. Most people made a point to high tail it out of there by eight. Breakouts happened at night.

A buzzing sound drove her out of her thoughts. Leaning carefully out of her char, she looked under her desk for her purse and pulled out her mobile.

**Working late?**

Gary would be irritated that she worked late - again. She rolled her eyes, she could see the look on his face now, and she was too mentally worn out to care. Her ring sparkled in the light of her desk lamp and she looked at the diamond with a sneer. Lazily, she punched in her reply:

**Yup.**

The phone flipped from her fingers onto the ground. She returned to her work. There were plenty of other patients to attend to. Many successful cases. She was letting this nutcase get into her head.

2:30 A.M. and she was sitting on the floor. Files were spread out in front of her. Her neat pony tail was now in a frizzy bun, a pencil sticking out the side. Yawns were persistent, but she was determined to get tomorrow's - or today's work done early so she could leave sooner. _Don__'__t know why I want to go home early. Gary will just be griping about bureaucracy and the system. I can__'__t take it anymore. I can__'__t stand him._

Her mind returned once more to the Joker. Now he was fascinating. What could be locked up in that mind of his. Harleen leaned against her desk. Thinking of a plan for her next meeting with him. It would be more orientated towards him. She yawned once more and decided to just lay her head back for just a few minutes.

_My little__…__**harlequin**__._

She spun around trying to stand, almost tripping over her chair as she did so. She caught herself on her desk and looked around. No one. Just a dark hallway outside of her open door. Carefully she peered outside into the hallway. Once sure she was okay, she closed the door, making sure to lock and deadbolt it.

Her body slid down the door, perhaps she wasn't cut out for the Joker case, she had only been here a eight months. No, she had solved the last five cases. Easily. No other doctor had done that. She was a good doctor! She was good at this job…this wasn't an option. She would just have figure out what made him tick.

A dull pounding began to form in her forehead, and she followed with a groan. She leaned back against the door and shut her eyes.

* * *

She was in a strange place. It was dark, but there was a light very far away. Her eyes looked around frantically. Nothing. She ran in front of her, towards the light, but it never grew closer. Out of breath, she stopped running and bent over to force air into her lungs. Her fingers reached for her pocket. No cell phone.

"Hello?" she cried, "Hello!"

His maniacal laughter erupted from behind her. She spun around, but couldn't see him. All there was in front of her was blinding darkness. Had she gone out and gotten drunk with friends? She scoffed to herself, who would she have gotten drunk with? Gary? That was laughable. What had she done in the last few hours? She shook her head.

"You're going crazy, Harley," she said to herself.

"Crazy?" _he _yelled, his face appeared in front of her and she screamed. She threw her hands in front of her face, but she could still see his terrifying face. Everything felt as if it was closing in around her.

"Please stop," she whispered, hoping it would all just go away.

"Harley, Harley, Harley," he soothed, his hand roughly grabbing her chin, "Shh, shh, shh. Harley, dear, you aren't crazy. No, you're just as normal as I am." He cackled loudly again as he threw her to the floor.

A flip knife slid from his pocket. "You know Harley, you spend years studying how to identify people's thoughts and behavior. You know the essence of what really makes them…tick." He grabbed her by the throat and shoved her harder into the ground. The blade was pressed to her cheek.

He continued,"But really all you need is the last five seconds of someone's life to know who they truly are." The blade moved down her cheek and she felt hot liquid run down her face.

"And what about you?" he asked, the knife sliding to her throat, "Are you a coward, Harley?"

Harleen woke up screaming. Her hand immediately went to her neck. Nothing.

"God damn it, Harleen," Gary groaned from beside her, "what are you screaming about?" He flipped off the covers and went into the bathroom. Harleen buried her face in her hands and started bawling. She didn't know why exactly either. The tears were just pressing to come out.

* * *

"Aren't ya gonna, ya know, write stuff down?"

"Taking notes causes the listener to stop listening to the patient," she explained, her voice sounded rough. She cleared her throat, "I'm perfectly capable of remembering our sessions. Would it make me you feel better if I took notes?"

Her second session with the Joker rolled around quicker than she expected. She wasn't quite as prepared as she had planned. He made a face at her question.

"Always trying to be a psychoanalyst, Harley," he said, clucking his tongue, "Why can people just simply be?"

"If everyone bought into that philosophy, I wouldn't have a job now would I?" she mumbled reaching for her coffee. Exhaustion had been tugging at her for a week. Sleep kept evading her.

He cackled, "Ha! Ha! And then I wouldn't be graced with your presence, doc, so let's pretend there is something wrong with me."

She narrowed her eyes at him, and snapped back, "There _is_ something wrong with you or you would not be in Arkham." She hadn't mean to speak in such a harsh manner or even those words. From a medical stand point, it was the worst thing to tell a patient that they are in fact "crazy." Her stomach coiled as she hoped that wouldn't come back to haunt her.

Her eyes went back to his. Rather than laughing, he was eyeing her. She suddenly felt once more that he could see straight through her.

"And why do you think there is something wrong with me, _doctor_?" he replied, his voice low and humor absent, "Is it because I don not fall into line with what people are supposed to be? What society says is normal? Because I do not follow the all-knowing 'plan?' What is it, Harley?"

Harleen's mind was at a complete standstill. He spoke so eloquently. His usual slurs and jest gone. She felt as if he were an entirely different person at this moment. And his ideas intrigued her.

"I-" she began. Truly she had no idea how to respond. Her mind was racing for the right thing to say.

"Well doc!" he said loudly, breaking the tension, "if there's something wrong with me, there must be something that got broken. Should we start with my childhood? How my father beat me? Didn't love me?" He stopped and looked at her, nodding, as if asking for her permission to continue.

She shook her head slightly, "Uh, yes. Perfect. Let's start there. Your-your father."

He gave a loud, exaggerated sigh, "Well you see, my father was a drinker. He'd disappear for, uh, days at a time. No call or notice. He'd just up and leave."

"Where would he go?" she said, leaning closer to him.

"Hell if I know, doc. Bars, whorehouses, drug dealers. It didn't matter much to me, as long as he was gone."

Harleen tilted her head slightly, "You didn't like for your father to be home?"

He smacked his lips, "Uh, no."

She nodded, feeling as if they were finally getting somewhere,"And why was that?"

His fingers tapped lightly on the table as his eyes narrowed on her. "Would you like to know where I got these scars?"

She leaned back raising an eyebrow, slightly annoyed, "Are you changing to topic?"

He sat up straight, mocking her, with a shocked expression, "Me?"

It took every bit of self control Harleen had to not roll her eyes, "Yes, you. Go back to why you didn't like for your father to be home."

A small growl came from his throat, "Fine. Play hardball, doc." He let out an aggravated grunt before continuing, "When he was home he would torture me and my mother. With whatever he could find. A bat, his fist, glass, tools, you name it. My mother was useless. She never would leave him. Always telling me that she loved him and that he was just a, er, 'lost soul.' Stupid bitch."

"You tried to get your mother to leave him?"

"Yup," he said, not looking at her and popping the 'p.'

"Do you resent your mother?" she said, her voice so soft she wondered if she had spoke the words aloud or merely thought them, but his answer answered her question.

"Would you? Would you resent a woman that begged her husband to hit her own son instead of her?"

Harleen felt her stomach drop. Her lips fell open slightly, wanting to give words of comfort. Her mind swirled with visions of a young blonde headed boy cowering in fear in his own living room. She reached her hand out slowly towards his, which was stretched out on the table. There was a long moment of silence.

"Which is why I killed them."

Her stomach dropped and her had stopped. Heartbeats rang so loud and fast in her ear she couldn't tell if it was only hers she could hear, but his as well. She jerked her hand back and looked at him. Her eyes wild with fright. She picked up her folder and slammed her hand down on the button. She hit it several time before the loud buzzing alerted her that it was unlocked. She pressed through the exit, almost dropping all of her belongings in her escape.

* * *

Harleen's knuckles tapped the wooden doors of her boss's office. Her heart rate was still through the roof three hours after her appointment with The Joker. She had to tell him she couldn't handle this case. She was simply too inexperienced. Her gut wrenched at the thought of giving up. If she could cure the Joker, she'd never have to grovel or do grunt work ever again. She'd be a legend.

But the sleepless nights were too much for her to take. Every night for a week now. Always the same ending. He was standing over her laughing, a knife to her throat.

_Are you a coward, Harley?_

Gary had resorted to sleeping in the living room, telling her to shut up when the screams started.

"Dr. Cavendish?" she called, not wanting to interrupt his work, her ear pressed against the door.

"Dr. Quinzel? Please! Come in," his happy voice replied.

She took a deep breath and opened the door. Dr. Cavendish was sitting at his large wooden desk, which seemed normally sized compared to his large frame. He was scribbling signatures onto paychecks, each check getting sloppier.

"Listen, sir, about my case-"

"Harleen, I just wanted to commend you on your job performance here at Arkham."

"Oh, thank you, about that sir-"

"We have never had a doctor with such a success rate with the patients. I'm very proud of you, Harleen. Jeremiah Arkham is having a fundraiser for Arkham at the end of the month. He'd to publicly congratulate you for your work, and your work with the Joker."

Her eyes widened, "Oh, wow," she said quietly. She shuffled her feet uncomfortably.

Dr. Cavendish stood from his chair, removing his thin framed glasses. He approached Harleen and wrapped an arm around her.

"You are doing so well here, Harleen, keep this up and I will have to make you head of psychiatry here at Arkham," he said.

Her mouth fell open even wider, "I don't know what to say,"

"Say you'll keep up the good work,"

Nodding dumbly, she responded, "I will."

Harleen's pen was thumping quickly against her notebook. The television was blasting in the background, but she didn't hear it. Her eyes were glazed over as she was lost in her thoughts.

"Babe."

She would have to press more on his childhood. It was the only lead she had right now. He murdered his parents, perhaps she could get into the emotions behind the act. The way he said he had killed them was so…nonchalant. Like it was swatting a fly.

"Babe."

Of course there were other depths to dive into. How had he entered the crime world? What had happened to him that made him so warped? What was the real story behind those scars?

"Harleen!"

Harleen snapped out of her thoughts, she looked over to Gary, "What?"

"Can you stop with the pen thumpin' thing? I'm trying to watch the movie," he said, "It's not like it would kill you to watch the movie with me," he grumbled.

Her stomach clenched at the insult, but she didn't want to get into a fit right now. "I have work," she said receding into her thoughts once more. Her notebook was full of notes and questions to ask him. She never brought her notebook into a psychiatric room. Her routine was to go straight to her office and write everything down she remembered. It helped her outline the important parts.

Taking her glass from the coffee table, she took a swig of wine. She began to scribble a 'J' in to the pages. She filled it in with little shapes within the J while she thought. _J__…__could that stand for a different name? _She thought to herself. _Jeremy? _A small laugh escaped her lips, that couldn't be it.

_James? Eh._

_Justin? Too preppy._

_John? Too plain._

_Jeremiah? Yeah, right._

_Josh? Doesn__'__t look like a Josh._

_Jared? Too__…__well maybe._

_Jillian? Too girly._

_Jack? Hmm.._

_Jerome?_

She couldn't hold it in anymore. Jerome. It couldn't possibly that. Gary shot her an odd look and then returned his attention to the television. Curiosity got the best of her. She stood from the couch, pulling Gary's gym sweatpants she was wearing up as they hung loosely from her hips.

Her socked feet padded across the wood to the kitchen. She didn't remember seeing any alias names on his report, but it wouldn't hurt to look. Humming to herself lightly, she flipped open the blue cover and gasped, dropping her wine glass. It shattered wine and glass over her feet.

"Babe? You okay?" Gary asked from the living room.

"F-fine," she called back, her eyes not leaving the open folder. Where his picture had been paper clipped to the folder was now a Joker card. Her trembling fingers reached forward to the card and she pulled it up to her face to read without her glasses.

Missing you, Harley.

Can't wait to find out what's broken. HA! HA!

-J

© DC Comics ©AeronBraxton2014


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Monsters Within

Harleen was leaning against her desk. The card she had found six days ago was hanging delicately between her fingers. She had fought off the urge to call in sick today. Her bottom lip was wedged between her teeth. She really didn't care for the amount of control he had over their sessions. Neither times had it gone according to plan.

The clock ticked the seconds into minutes. Minutes closer to their session. Twenty-seven minutes. Maybe she had time to leave. She could fake getting sick. No one would question her. Should she ask him how he had slipped the card into the folder? Did she really want to know the answer?

She slowly made her way down the hall. Her shoes dragging against the concrete floor. What did 'can't wait to find out what's broken' mean? Was he alluding to their last session? A part of her didn't think so.

Her finger pressed the elevator call and she leaned back against the wall. Two guards came out of the doors as it opened and they merely nodded and continued on their way. Would he even mention the card? Perhaps the best thing to do would be not mention it. _Just don't mention it. _

The basement level was clear today. It was far past lunch or rec time. She was actually grateful for the later time. Her mind really wasn't able to focus on other patients right now.

Her guard wasn't at the door making her feet stop in their place. There were no other footsteps in the long corridor. She took two steps back, a perfect excuse to miss today's appointment.

Suddenly, she heard a strangled scream. The hairs on the back on the back of her rose and goosebumps lined her arms. She ran towards the sound.

When she arrived at the end of the corridor she swore, not knowing to turn right or left. She was just about to take a guess when she heard another scream. Her eyebrows furrowed and she sprinted in the direction of the noise.

She checked the signs as she was passing them. The voice was coming from the medical ward. She walked quickly through the hall, peering into each window to see where the noise was coming from.

"AAAAAAAAAH!"

Her eyes landed on a door that was slightly ajar. She pushed herself towards it. Throwing it open she stepped inside. There were several aids and a doctor over an operating table. The bright florescent light blinded her and she shielded her eyes. Once they focused in she saw her patient convulsing on the table. His hand were curled towards his chest and his head was thrown back as another scream ripped through his throat. His dark eyes caught hold of hers as he twisted unnaturally in pain. White hot rage rushed through her.

"WHAT IN THE FUCKING HELL IS GOING ON HERE?" she yelled, her voice roared into the hallway.

The aids froze, looking from her to each other with wide eyes. She looked at them, daring them to speak. A shorter figure walked up to her.

"Just a regular procedure, Dr. Quinzel," Dr. Sinner responded, in her sing-song melodic voice. It made Harleen's skin crawl. Dr. Sinner continued, "Now if you'll please excuse us-"

"I don't think so," she said, brushing past Dr. Sinner roughly. She placed her fingers on the Joker's throat, checking for pulse. It was fluttering beneath her fingertips.

"His pulse is at least 160," she said, shaking her head, "What in God's name did you give him?"

Dr. Sinner scrunched her pudgy face, "Pentylenetetrazol. Standard procedure for schizophrenia."

Harleen growled as she grabbed the restraints from under the operating table and began wrapping them around him, fastening them to the other side, "Yes, except he doesn't have schizophrenia."

"We didn't know-" Dr. Sinner started.

"Which you would have known if you had contacted me, his fucking doctor," she opened his eye. His pupil didn't dilate. No response to light.

"How many injections did you give him?" she placed her hand on his forehead. He was soaked in sweat. She looked up at the aids, no one responded.

"How many?" she yelled, irritated at the staff. One young aid was shaking. Harleen looked at her hard, she shook harder, "Fifty-six," she whispered.

She grabbed the railing to the operating table and began to wheel him out of the room. Once he was out in the hall she stepped back in the room, "You want to torture patients, find a new place to work." And with that she slammed the door.

She grabbed the handles once more and pushed him down the dark corridor, "And we wonder why people are so fucking insane in this city."

Flicking on the lights to an empty consultation room, she pulled the operating bed into the room. He was unconscious at the moment, which slightly worried her. Holding open his eye, she shined a light into it again, still nothing. Pentylenetetrazol was meant to cause seizures, and he wasn't responding.

She had unstrapped the restraints and lowered the railing on the operating table. Grabbing the sheets, she pulled him onto the medical bed. It was a little less than graceful, one of her hands slipped and his hip hit the side of the bed.

"Sorry," she whispered, adjusting his body on the bed and replacing the restraint straps. He would need x-rays, maybe even a CAT scan. Injections were always maximized at thirty-five, not fifty-six. Her stomach wrenched. She hated Arkham's extreme treatment methods. When she was made head of psychiatry, they would be the first thing to go.

_One thing at a time_, she pushed an IV into his arm to get him rehydrated. A heart monitor beeped behind her, assuring her he was at least alive. She placed her hands on the railings and let out a long sigh. Her head dropped for a moment in exhaustion.

She looked at his sleeping form. If she looked hard enough, she could almost see through the paint to his resting face. He looked like a normal man. Harleen found herself wanting to see the face under his mask. He would never have to know if she were to wipe it off and replace it later. No. If he found out, he would be furious. She would lose the small doctor-patient trust she had formed with him and she was not about to ruin it to feed a fantasy. But still she longed to just touch him, to feel for herself if he was human, surely that couldn't hurt.

Looking to see if anyone was around, she placed her hand on top of his head, smoothing back his hair. She caught a stray curl and ran it between two fingers. It was softer than she expected. A high pitch triple beep sounded from the monitor signaling his heart rate had returned to an average speed. Her face eased. Her thumb absentmindedly rubbed against his forehead.

How could one man cause so much destruction? Outside of Arkham, he had seemed like an invincible force. Ominous and everywhere. Unstoppable. But now he was just one mortal man, contained in a simple hospital bed. She hoped she could help him like she had the others. Not for the city's sake, but for his.

* * *

"You could have killed him! Fifty-six injections? You didn't even have him hooked up to measure his vitals. This is the definition of torture," Harleen was pacing frantically in Dr. Cavendish's office. Her entire body was surging with rage. Dr. Sinner's smug face was staring back at her. She kept giving Dr. Cavendish this innocent expression. Harleen wasn't to rip her hair out of her skull.

The Joker was stable and back in his cell. High security, and she was checking on his vitals every three hours. He was sedated now, there was some muscle damage that she had set and didn't want him straining it. It was the first time she was allowed in the cell level. She had to be accompanied by eight guards.

It was dark and grimy. She made the medical aid install light inside his cell just so she could observe his wound. Her own stomach turned at the gruesome conditions the high-level security patients lived in.

"The New Jersey courts ruled that these treatments are perfectly valid for the criminally insane," she said, her voice sounding confused. Harleen could see right through it.

"Just because it's legal doesn't make it ethical," she said, her voice low and threatening.

"Dr. Quinzel, I'm sorry, I don't mean to step on toes, but I think you are too emotionally involved-"

Harleen interrupted her, "Emotional, my ass, you can not treat people this way!" She stopped pacing and checked her watch. She couldn't stand to be in this room any longer with this woman.

"But they are not people! They're animals, Dr. Quinzel," she said, crossing her arms, giving Harleen a daring look only she would notice.

"Not people," she laughed out, walking towards Sinner, "And that's what's wrong with doctors like you. Do you ever wonder why Arkham wasn't working until I got here?" She stood inches from Sinner, her voice dropped low, "I think this answers your question."

She turned from Dr. Sinner and looked out the window to the courtyard. There wasn't a question in her mind as to why the inmates of this Asylum tried to escape. A cold shudder ran through the length of her arm. The haunted feeling she had since she saw him on the operating table still remained. She couldn't erase the look he had given her, the affliction in his eyes, and the visible relief that had overcome him when she walked into the room. She could see the 100 foot wall outside and the guards walking along the top of it from where she stood. If it had been her on that table, there would be no wall high enough to contain her.

"We don't know if the treatment even effects them like regular humans. They need high dosages of it to be effective. They're immune to pain," she said, her voice once more high pitched and seemingly sympathetic.

"Then why don't I strap you down to the table then, huh?" Harleen said, spinning around, it was obvious she was losing control of her emotions. She directed herself towards Sinner,"Why don't I strap you down to the table and inject you?"

"Dr. Quinzel," Dr. Cavendish said in a hushed voice, gently placing his hand on his arm. "you need to step back and take a moment." Harley turned back towards the window.

"He is my patient," she whispered.

"Correct, Dr. Sinner, you have no right to administer treatment to The Joker after his sessions with Dr. Quinzel began," she heard Cavendish explain. She took a calming breath.

"But-"

"I'm sorry, Dr. Sinner, it is protocol, and after seeing Dr. Quinzel's track record I am at no liberty to disagree with her medical opinion."

Sinner's eyes caught Harleen's, giving her a hateful look,"Yes, sir," she mumbled.

"Good," Dr. Cavendish said with a nod, "now if you'll excuse me ladies, I have to meet with the board of directors, and you both know how much I enjoy that."

Harleen gave a small smile and turned to leave herself. The Joker was due for a check up, anyway. She pulled out her her phone and paged her guards. Just as she was walking through the doorway she was shoved back.

"What the hell?" she said, looking at Sinner, who's large frame was blocking the doorway.

"I don't trust you, Quinzel, " Sinner sneered, "You're too emotionally attached to your patient, and you can get away with it cause you're pretty. I'll have you evicted from his case and then we'll gut him like the animal he is."

"Are you sure it's not you too emotionally involved, Doctor?" she said, standing tall and crossing her arms.

"I just want Gotham to be safe for my children," her voice dropped to a whisper, and Harleen took a deep breath.

"And what if one of these patients were your children?

"They wouldn't-" Sinner began, but Harleen cut her off.

"How do you know? These people weren't hatched from eggs, they didn't fall from the sky or dropped off by aliens. They all had parents and they all had something that drove them to do the things they do," she said, Sinner began to look around nervously., "They are all someone's child."

Sinnner's mouth twitched as she tried to find something clever to say in return, but with a huff she replied, "Do not cross me."

Harleen shrugged, "The same goes for you, watch your back or you may find yourself out of a job and a license."

* * *

Harleen was once more surrounded by darkness. Looking around there was no light, but she could hear herself breathing. She wiggled her body a bit and found that she was lying down. _That's strange. _She began to sit up only to have her head connect with a solid surface not a foot in front of her.

"What the hell?" she whispered, her hands went in front of her, feeling what felt like polished wood. Quickly, she rolled over and pressed in front of her, testing her perimeters. Her hands ran across velvet lining.

"Hello?" she screamed, "Hello! Please! Someone!"

Her hands beat against the hard surface. Tears spilled over her eyes and she began to choke on sobs. She couldn't quiet her mind to think. It was becoming hard to breath.

"Please! Oh, God! Please somebody help me!"

Suddenly she heard voices, muffled and distant. She leaned forward, press her ear against the flat surface.

_"__She will be missed,_" she could just barley make it out.

"What?" she said, it was becoming uncomfortably warm in the small space. Her heart was thudding in her ears and her blood was felt as if it was running so thick she could practically hear it rushing through her ear canal. She began to slam her hands against anything that she could. It was getting warmer, a bead of sweat rolled off her head.

Her nails began to pull splints of wood from in front of her. She let out an excited breath and began to claw through the wood, ignoring the pain and mutilation of her fingertips. Suddenly, everything became bright. She looked around. The wood was translucent and she was in a hole. A six foot deep hole.

Harleen's screams became frantic and she clawed as hard as she could, never making any progress. Above her stood Gary, Commissioner Gordon, Dr. Cavendish, and a priest. The priest was reading out of a Bible, but she couldn't make out what he was saying.

"Don't you hear me?!" she screamed raggedly, her voice going hoarse. It was so hot now that her skin felt as if it were sticking to everything.

Suddenly, a figure in a purple suit approached the grave, "You are a coward, aren't you Harley?" His voice wasn't muffled like the priest's, but as clear as if he was sitting in front of her. He held a shovel in his hand and he scooped up a large load and dumped it onto the top of the coffin. Harleen's screamed kicked back up and suddenly she felt as if she was being shook. She closed her eyes and screamed as loud as her lungs could manage.

"Harleen! Wake up, dammit!"

Harleen's eyes opened and she looked in front of her. Gary was sitting on the bed in front of her, holding her shoulders. She could feel the wetness on her cheeks from where she'd been crying.

"Gary?" she whispered, afraid that any action she took would lead her back to her nightmare.

He nodded, "What are you dreaming about? Nothing can be that scary."

She just shook her head quickly, "I don't want to talk about it."

Gary gave her an annoyed look and stood from the bed, "Here's some water, I'm going back to the living room. Just yell, or whatever, if you need me."

Harleen wanted to burst into tears, she just wanted him to hold her. She wanted some comfort, for him to tell her it would be okay, but instead she just nodded and watched him walk out the door.

* * *

Harleen pulled her hair back in a tight bun, and then grimaced as a few stray drops of water ran down her back. She shook under shirt, hoping it would absorb the water.

"Seven forty-three. Another night in, Harleen?" a voice called from her office.

She stepped out of her office's personal bathroom, "Yes, sir, just washing up a bit. Are you staying here as well?"

Dr. Cavendish shook his head, "Oh no, ma'am. No, Mr. Arkham and I are going to dinner to discuss breakout prevention," he explained, looking bored. His face lit up and he motioned towards her, "You're more than welcome to join us, I'm sure Mr. Arkham would love to finally meet you."

An odd feeling held her back, it would mean a lot to her career to meet Mr. Arkham. She was sure Cavendish would love to show her off. She should be excited, but all she could think about was going down to the bottom levels to see if _he_ was awake yet.

"Maybe next time," she said, giving him a apologetic smile, "I need to check on my patient one more time."

"That's why we need doctors like you, Dr. Quinzel. Alright, I'll tell Dr. Arkham you said hello. Good night, Harleen," he said as he walked out of her office.

After he left, she turned towards her blouse laying on the chair. She pulled it onto herself and then her lab coat. She hadn't been home in the last three days. Gary hadn't noticed much, apparently he and Gordon were on a case. He called to check on her twice, but nothing more. Thankfully she had picked up dry-cleaning on Monday so she had extra clothes laying around the office.

She met her guards and preceded down to the high-security levels. She wasn't sure what more she could do for him. Often she had found herself checking on him with no reason at all. The guards didn't dare enter the room with her, so she was free to sit and study him as she pleased. They arrived at the cell and the head guard entered the code unlocking the door. She gave the guard a quick smile and nod as she passed through. Out of habit she grabbed his chart in which she had recorded his last vitals on.

"Hi there, doc. Miss me?"

Harleen nearly jumped out of her skin. The clipboard dropped to the ground, rattling off the walls.

"Dr. Quinzel? Are you alright? Do you need assistance?" A guard called from outside the open door.

She looked back, "Yes! Yes, sorry, just dropped my clipboard, I'm okay," she said, bending over to retrieve it.

Her eyes returned to where he sat on the hospital bed. He looked like he was perfectly back to normal, which didn't surprise her. She had kept him sedated mostly to heal his tissue damage. Hesitantly, she approached him. Her hand pressed on his side with a light pressure.

"Does that hurt?"

"No, hello? I'm offended, Harley. I've been out like a light for two weeks and the first thing you say to me is 'Does that hurt?' I thought we were closer than that," he said, his usual humorous tone ever present in his voice.

She gave him an apathetic look, "Two sessions hardly makes us close, don't you think?" She hoped he wouldn't bring up the card she'd found. Perhaps he'd forgotten it.

He shrugged, "It's longer than any other doc-tor has made it. So from my per-spect-tive, I'd say yes," he said matter-of-factly.

Harleen rolled her eyes and began recording the numbers from the machine on to form on her clipboard. She hadn't been ready for him to wake up, not with the nightmares she'd been having of him. He was calm and harmless when he had been sedated, but awake he was an entirely different entity. One Harleen didn't know to approach with interest or fear.

She cleared her throat, "How do you feel?"

He clicked his tongue, "Peachy, doc, real peachy."

Once she was done with the paperwork, she looked up at him nervously, "How often has that happened before? The treatments I mean."

He snorted and turned from her, "Don't worry about it, doc."

"No, I need to know, I had no idea they were already administering treatments to you before I took on your case. Had I known-"

"What?" he cut her off, "you would have stopped it? Listen, doc, I said, don't worry about it. There's a lot that goes on around Arkham that you don't know about."

_That's for sure._ She felt useless and childish for her ignorance. She should have known, hell, she should have at least expected. The thought had never crossed her mind.

"Okay," she started, "from a strictly medical standpoint, how often have these treatments occurred?"

He shrugged, "Two, three," he looked around as if thinking, "times a week since I've been here."

Harleen felt as if all the organ's in her body dropped. Two or three times a week? Her head shook disbelievingly.

"I don't know what to say," she admitted, looking away from him, "But I promise it won't happen again. It won't happen to any of my patients. I promise."

He chuckled darkly, "Promises are like snow, doc, sure it's pretty for the first day or two, but as things start to heat up it alls melts and is forgotten," he looked to her silent expression, assuming she didn't understand his analogy, "Don't make promises you can't keep, Harley."

* * *

"Harleen, you've been in that goddamn asylum too long. I want to have a night out with you so you will get in the car and go. Stop working for once in your life."

Gary had been on her case for two days now, wanting her to go to a movie with him. She had too much work to do, and the last thing she wanted was to watch another slapstick comedy with him.

"I don't want to go out, I might get called in and I do not work all the time, Gary, stop exaggerating," she said, her eyes returned to the new issue of _Psychology Today_.

"Exaggerating? You've been in that building every night for five nights now! Do you ever plan on coming home? Or are you planning on setting up residence over there?" He was pacing in front of the television, trying to distract her from the show she was listening to as well.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said with a murmur, flipping a page loudly.

"I'm being perfectly reasonable! Is it unreasonable for me to ask my wife to sleep under the same roof as me once in a blue moon?"

She looked at him sternly, "Like you want me to sleep here, you flip out at me every time I have a nightmare, aren't you supposed to comforting me? Not go sleep on the couch to get away from me."

"You have night terrors every freaking night! Who does that? It's that freaking Asylum. It's getting into your head. You need to find another job," he said, standing in front of her with his hands on his hips. Harleen didn't appreciate his attempt at dominance.

"Do not tell me what I do and don't need to do, Gary," she said, "now leave me alone."

"I don't want you working there."

"I like working there, I am making a difference, besides I don't really care what you like."

Gary let out a frustrated snarl, he stood over the empty chair in front of her and tapped his fingers against it.

"Then," he hesitated, and then started again, "then let's take a vacation, get away for a few weeks. Just you and me."

Harleen felt guilt take over, it felt like her stomach had been tied in a knot. She couldn't abandon her job, not now.

"Gary, you know I can't, I have patients that need me."

He knelt in front of her, rubbing her thigh, it made Harleen's skin crawl, "Come on, sweetie, can't we just go back to the way things were? Back when we'd do it in the back of my truck-"

"Gary!" she interrupted him, pushing his hand away, "We aren't teenagers, Gary, show some maturity, please."

His hand returned to her leg, she bit her tongue down to contain her harsh comment from spilling out, "Come on," he encouraged, leaning his head into her neck. She cringed, he continued, "don't you miss this?"

His lips touched her neck and Harleen thought she'd be sick. She stood from the couch, pretending to get something to eat. She wiped her hand across her neck roughly.

"You never want to do anything with me anymore," he whined.

Harleen spun around, "Maybe cause you aren't on the same level as me? Have you ever tried putting all your effort into something? Do you work hard at anything? You only got promoted because the only other cops worth while to give the position to died in the line of fire while you sat on your sorry ass at the precinct!"

She knew she had crossed a line, but everything flowed out as if the flood gates on her mind had been broken open. She tried to stand tall, but was nervous about what he'd say next. His face looked as if she'd struck him, in fact, he'd probably would have preferred that.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking at the floor. But she wasn't. The truth was out in the open now, not ripping her apart internally.

"Yeah, whatever," he grunted, leaving her alone in the kitchen.

* * *

Author's Note:

Thanks for reading! Please review, tell me what you think and what you think should happen next. I'm also in the market for a Beta-Reader if anyone is interested! Thanks guys! You rock!


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